that he’s male instantly makes me hate him, and I sneer as I look down one more time at the huge black truck.
The past twelve hours have changed my entire attitude about life. I deal with assholes on a daily basis. Cheating spouses, men crying poor so they don’t have to pay child support, women crying the victim when I know they probably haven’t put out for their husband in years. It’s my job to settle them down, to deliver the best deal possible for the party who’s hired me, whether I think they deserve it or not. But I’ve always sold myself short. I settle when I know I deserve so much more. Well, not anymore. From here forward I’m going to be like the contestants from American Ninja Warrior—badass, unstoppable, and you better not mess with me because I’m not taking anyone’s shit.
Bursting through my apartment door, I begin to shed last night’s clothes, balling them up and dumping the entire ensemble in the garbage. I slide into a pair of running shorts, tank, and tennis shoes deciding I need to sweat out all the disgusting coursing through my veins. Feeling slightly worked, this is going to be painful, but I can’t sit home and wallow in self-pity the rest of the day either. I’ve wasted enough of my life on Matt Bryson.
A loud crash echoes through the wall from next door, and I bare my teeth as I race down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. Silencing the rest of the world with my ear buds, I press play on my iPod, and Bastille’s “Flaws” blasts in my ears. Thankful for the distraction, I begin to run.
My pace starts out normal, my feet pound the pavement, and the smell of the ocean gets more pronounced the closer I get. Santa Barbara, one of the most beautiful seaside towns in existence, is just waking up. Most people spend their lives hoping to retire in a city exactly like this. I’ve spent my entire life trying to get out of it.
No one can deny the beauty of this city. The sun is always shining, surfers are on constant display, palm trees line the streets, and it’s like a perfect and peaceful paradise. It’s always been my home, but when all you see are memories you wish you could forget, and the thought of how your life should be plagues your mind every day, the beauty begins to fade. Fate just had to step in and change all of my meticulously thought out plans.
Matt had proposed right before he took off to conquer the world. Promising to return, promising this wasn’t goodbye, but a chance for him to prove to me and everyone else that he’d be the best husband ever. But his calls were infrequent, his visits non-existent.
If my dad hadn’t become so sick, I would have left, as well. But leaving my father to fend for himself was not an option. Too caught up in the craziness that was my life, it took me years to get over the shock of Matt’s absence. Only recently moving forward, but now . . . crap, now I’m right back where I was five years ago.
Running harder, faster, trying to outrun the memory of his touch, I’m taken completely off guard when my foot suddenly catches on something and I fall.
My hands slam down in front of me, my face hitting the pavement, and my body completely hugging the concrete. My ear buds fly loose and fall to the ground with Hozier’s “Take Me to Church” blasting around me.
I’m disoriented and have no idea how I went from an upright position to splayed out on the sidewalk. The loud music adds to my confusion, and I realize the plug has dislodged from my iPod. I quickly turn it off and inwardly groan at how crappy this weekend ended up.
Lifting my head, I look around in total embarrassment.
As I gaze directly in front of me, my eyes land on a pair of legs—masculine legs, strong, tan and inches from my face. I slowly drift my eyes up those legs, past the knees and to the bottom of a pair of black nylon running shorts. A white T-shirt hangs out of the back of his shorts, and my eyes continue their upward appraisal, landing on a dark happy trail . . . six pack . . . eight pack. My mouth falls open at the count . . . a glistening sheen of